


but in the moment after

by twoif



Series: flash fics [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 22:13:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20454377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoif/pseuds/twoif
Summary: Akashi sends a bottle of champagne to Midorima after he finishes taking his licensing exam.





	but in the moment after

**Author's Note:**

> original prompt: 10 minutes / medical professional / spilled champagne.

Akashi sends a bottle of champagne to Midorima after he finishes taking his licensing exam. It'll be a few weeks before he finds out the results, so Midorima thinks about saving it until he's actually passed or, pettily, sending it back. It's accompanied by a neat, terse message apologizing for not being there in person, which is part of what tips Midorima onto the side of drinking it, consequences be damned. He knows there is no way in hell Akashi would ever come to Tokyo just to see Midorima graduate, and he doesn't appreciate the reminder. Akashi may have written it in the negative ("Sending my regrets along with this bottle—"), but if Seijuurou ever taught Midorima anything, it was to read between the lines.

He calls Takao instead, who turns out is already on his way. "I marked the date on my calendar, Shin-chan," Takao says, breath heavy as he sprints the last meters to Midorima's apartment. "I can't wait to see you."

On sleep deprivation and stress, the champagne hits Midorima harder than he expects. Takao lets him drink most of his share too, filling up Midorima's mug whenever it gets empty. "Aren't you fancy enough to keep flutes?" Takao keeps saying with a grin and, when Midorima shakes his head, "shouldn't that one have sent a set with the bottle? What a cheapskate!" On his second refill, Midorima's grip on his mug slips, and Takao ends up slopping some of the champagne on Midorima's shirt. It makes them both laugh, inexplicably, Takao hiccuping a little afterwards, wiping at his eyes. He is so vibrant, Midorima thinks. A slash of black against Midorima's ascetic apartment, pulsating. 

In his last year of high school, Midorima had rather unceremoniously come out, first to Takao and then, immediately afterwards through Takao, the rest of the Shuutoku basketball team, alums included. It had been awkward between them for a while, mostly on Takao's end. _So do you mean you like_ me, he'd asked, the typical first question of a straight dude with a suddenly gay friend, and it had taken all of Midorima's considerable self-control not to laugh at him. They ironed it out between them, eventually. Going to different colleges and seeing each other less and on a more voluntary basis helped. Years later, Miyaji told Midorima that his coming out had sent Takao into a tailspin. Over cigarettes and a wicked smile, Miyaji recited texts and old phone conversations: _what about my feelings then, what if what I feel for him is more than admiration, what if I want to jump him, who wants to jump him?!_ If this were a manga, Midorima suspects this is where either he or Miyaji—who'd never come out officially, but Midorima knew how to read between the lines—would have made out with Takao, maybe in the name of experimentation. But it wasn't. In the end, Takao's own sexuality crisis had passed that way, like ships in the dark with Midorima. Or like a tiny dinghy trying to catch up with a submarine that had been underwater too long. 

"It would be simpler," Midorima says now. His own voice sounds very far away to himself. "If it had been you."

The minute the words come out of his mouth, he regrets them. They're not a particularly helpful way forward, and the burden of his feelings were never, or at least no longer, Takao's burden to bear. Takao pauses, frowning, then suddenly chugs a mouthful of champagne straight from the bottle. Before Midorima can protest, he marches over, places Midorima's mug on a side table, and then seals his lips over Midorima's. It's a gesture that could hardly be called a kiss, more violence than romance, all closed mouth, no tongue.

"Ow," Midorima says, shoving Takao away. "What the hell, Takao?"

"You know what your problem is, Shin-chan?" Takao is still holding the champagne bottle, and he bares his teeth as he takes another swig. "You only ever want the impossible."

"Thanks for the reminder," Midorima snaps. He tries to grab the bottle, but Takao holds it away from him, his hand on Midorima's chest keeping Midorima in place and unreachable. There is a metaphor here, but Midorima is too tired to figure out the ramifications. Instead, he lets himself slump against Takao's palm, the fight draining from him. "I've known for years that I have no chance," he says, each consonant flinty. "I don't need you of all people to tell me."

Takao sneers. "You think I mean _this_?" he asks, giving the bottle a little shake. He doesn't need to say, _you think I mean him?_

"What else? I think I of all people would know the identity of the person I—"

This time, Midorima is almost ready for Takao. Perched on the arm of the couch, Takao for once is the taller one. When he bends down to meet Midorima, his mouth is soft and yielding, open for however far Midorima wants to advance. Midorima can still taste the champagne on Takao's lips, effervescent and a little bitter. Like a proxy for sparks flying, Midorima thinks, and is shocked to realize he's closed his eyes, like he can't bear to look at this moment happening between them, to a person who isn't him.

When he opens them again, Takao's face swims into view. He is smiling, but there is something wrong with the way Takao's mouth looks, the exact curve of it, a three-pointer off track that will never make it to the hoop. "I mean me," Takao says quietly. "You only want me now, because it's safe. Because you know you won't ever really want me." 

He hands Midorima the champagne bottle. Once he's sure Midorima's grip on it is nice and firm, he clears his throat. "Not like you want him," he tells Midorima.

For a minute, they stay that way, hands outstretched, connected. Then, Takao lets go.


End file.
